


Rest

by CariniCode



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Romance, Horcrux Hunting, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29119860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CariniCode/pseuds/CariniCode
Summary: Another dark wizard steps in to take Voldemort's place the night after he's defeated in Godric's Hollow. Harry tries to collect the Horcruxes to piece Voldemort back together, believing he's the only hope the wizarding world has.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 17
Kudos: 176





	1. Chapter 1

Harry wasn’t sure where his friends were, anymore, or if they were even alive. If he thought about it too much, it made his stomach twist and bile rise in his throat. 

Finishing up the porridge he’d found in the abandoned house and made for dinner, Harry set the bowl aside and pulled the cloak tighter around himself. There were holes in the walls and ceiling, windows were blown out, and debris was scattered everywhere. Much of the neighborhood looked this way, if the house hadn’t collapsed altogether. It was a small town that had been attacked early on in the war, most of its inhabitants murdered or moved to another location, and it was only because of that Harry felt safe residing there for the night. Not many death eaters came around previously searched and destroyed towns, and he was desperate for warmth and rest. 

A large python slithered in through one of the holes by the front door, moving towards Harry as her tongue flickered in and out as if she were tasting the air. He didn’t move, though, watching as she came to his side and coiled up. 

“Find anything?” he asked, the hisses natural on his tongue. 

“No.” 

He nodded, and didn’t question her further. Nagini had been traveling with him for some time now, and when he chose to settle one place for any amount of time, she insisted on checking the surrounding area. Harry never argued; even though he could speak to her, she was very much her own boss, and never took orders or suggestions. 

“When will we find the others?” she hissed after a few moments of silence passed. Harry knew she wasn’t referencing the friends he’d been thinking about. She didn’t care where Ron and Hermione were, nor did she concern herself with Dumbledore or the Order of the Phoenix. 

“I’m working on it,” he said simply, playing with the locket they’d nabbed a few weeks earlier. Slytherin’s locket was imbued with the same dark magic Nagini was, indicating it was in fact a piece of Lord Voldemort’s soul. “It’s not like I have a map to them.” 

Nagini gave a low hiss, but didn’t say more, which suited Harry fine. Toying with the locket more, it brought forth the grim memory of the Triwizard tournament -- of the death eaters descending on the castle, of the battle that took place, of his dead classmates and professors scattering the grounds. It was the beginning of the end, as the papers labeled it. They targeted magical children without remorse, and those who didn’t escape were cut down. Harry didn’t know if Hermione or Ron had survived. McGonagall had grabbed him, dragged him to a fireplace, and swiftly pushed him through. It took weeks for the anger and bitterness to leave him over it -- he had wanted to save his friends. To fight. She robbed him of that chance. 

Without realizing how truly tired he was, Harry drifted to sleep, and dreamt of red eyes lurking in the shadows, watching. He was woken by Nagini pressing her head against his jaw, and he shifted away from her wearily. “I’m awake,” he said, voice groggy. 

“We must leave,” she insisted, her hissing low and dangerous. 

“Why --” he didn’t need to ask as he heard the voices outside. They were loud and joyous, and immediately Harry doused the fire with a quick flick of his wand. 

“Potter was spotted a few miles north of here. Wha’cha think he’s doing up this way?” 

“He must have a death wish. We control this area!” 

Slowly and quietly, Harry peered through one of the holes in the wall, seeing two wizards stumbling through the snow. They seemed to be just passing through, but he wasn’t willing to take any risks; usually when there was one, there were more. Quickly packing everything with a silent flick of his wand, he pocketed his meager belongings and headed for the back of the house, Nagini right on his heels. They knew he was in the area somehow, and so he was keen on not being there any longer. 

Slipping out the back door, Harry jumped down the collapsed steps and headed into the forest. It wouldn’t give much cover, given the season, but he doubted the wizards would drift from the road, not with as much snow had fallen. Once they were a sufficient distance away, Harry reached for Nagini and apparated. She’d already nearly killed him for leaving her behind once, he wasn’t keen on repeating the mistake. 

“Where are we?” she demanded, looking around the dark forest. 

“The forbidden forest, outside of Hogwarts.” 

It was a dangerous place to come, but it had been weighing on his mind as of late, for many reasons. It was the last place he’d known his friends to be, and Tom Riddle had also attended school here. It stood to reason that there may be another Horcrux hidden somewhere on its grounds. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something. More importantly, he could see what had happened since he last saw the castle almost three years ago. 

Nagini didn’t question further, slithering along behind him as he headed in the direction of Hogwarts. The forest hadn’t changed at all; it was dark, quiet, and gave Harry the distinct impression that someone or something was watching from the shadows. Truthfully, it didn’t affect him as much as it had when he first came to the magical school -- whatever lurked in the background would have to get through Nagini to get to him, and well, the snake wasn’t to be trifled with. Not to mention, Harry had seen a lot of horrible, nightmare inducing things since the Triwizard tournament, and doubted whatever was watching could top them. 

Reaching the edge of the forest, Harry looked towards the remains of the castle. Hogwarts no longer stood proud over the lake, but lay in ruins, as if it had been rotting for decades. It broke his heart; he’d called this place home, and it brought him warmth and comfort every time he arrived back from the summer spent at the Dursleys. Only one of the towers was still intact, but much of the structure had fallen, as if the Death Eaters took the time to destroy as much as possible. 

“We must seek shelter, or you will end up with frostbite,” Nagini hissed, sounding impatient. Drawn back from his thoughts, Harry nodded, knowing he’d lost feeling in his fingers and toes sometime ago. 

Not sensing anyone, he headed towards the castle, trying to determine if there was any part of it he could go into, or any part he could just use as shelter. As he grew closer though, he felt a little tingle in his scar, before the soft hissing of another Horcrux met his ears. 

“Another one,” Nagini hissed, hearing it too. 

“Yeah. It’ll take forever to find, though.” 

“Rest first.” 

Not wanting to argue with the snake, Harry found an opening he could crawl through, and discovered the inside of one of the classrooms was still intact. It was in disarray, but he cared little -- the structure was sound and wouldn’t collapse on his head, and that was all he cared about. With a wave of his wand, his belongings unpacked themselves, and he set to dismantling a few tables for firewood. Nagini watched, coiled up, and Harry moved naturally from routine while his mind wandered. 

He had two Horcrux so far, with a third nearby. It wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but it meant he was a little closer to resurrecting Lord Voldemort. Perhaps it was a stupid plan, hoping to essentially fight fire with fire, but it was the only option he could think of to fight the Dark Lord who had risen in his place. At least with Voldemort, the entire world hadn’t been on fire. 

Sleep had lured him in again, and this time Harry found himself standing amongst the decorated halls of Hogwarts. Everything was pristine and perfect, and yet, Harry thought himself out of place. He was grungy, filthy, and his robes were torn. His hair was disheveled, and the last cut he gave himself certainly hadn’t been his best. He was too thin, and the dark circles under his eyes seemed to be a permanent part of his appearance now. The last three years had been incredibly hard on him, and he was tired. So very tired. 

Something called to Harry, and his feet moved without his brain needing to tell them to. He looked over the hall as he walked, recognizing every little detail he had first taken in when he began his school year at Hogwarts, and it didn’t take him long to realize he was heading towards the Great Hall. It was quiet when he arrived, and the fires lining the walls were demure; but it was the mass of darkness at the front of the hall that drew his attention most. At the podium, where the teachers usually sat. 

Drawn like a moth to a flame, Harry approached it. The shadow wasn’t stagnant -- the edges twisted and turned, as if they were reaching out before deciding against it. As he drew closer, Harry realized he couldn’t see through it, either, but there were a pair of blood red eyes around the area that Dumbledore once sat. They watched him intensely, and it made Harry’s heart beat faster. 

“Why are you here?” Harry asked, stopping several feet away from the eyes. Their owner had never spoken before, and he really wasn’t expecting an answer now, despite the growing desire to know something about them. They felt familiar, but dangerous. 

The eyes, surprisingly, broke contact with him to look around the room slowly. When they reached him again, a voice answered in Parseltongue. “This is where you are.” 

Harry couldn’t determine anything about the voice as far as gender or identity went, but he could tell the tone was neutral, if not disinterested. “You’re… not here, though.” The answer confused Harry -- he was, in fact, at Hogwarts, even if this was a dream. But as the seconds passed, he was feeling a lot more lucid and a loss less certain that this wasn’t real. 

“I am where you go,” the voice said, cryptic. “You are carrying pieces of me, are you not?” 

The pieces of the puzzle slotted into place. “Voldemort.” 

As if giving the pair of red eyes a name and identity, the shadows pulled inwards towards the center, revealing a handsome man Harry knew as Tom Riddle. His image wasn’t entirely corporeal though; it was as if he was flickering in and out of existence, like a static channel on the television. Now that he had something of a form, however, Voldemort looked down at himself briefly, before looking back to Harry. 

“You’re in my mind,” Harry stated. One puzzle was solved, but more formed in its place. 

“I am, yes. Exposure to my soul pieces does that.” Voldemort folded his hands neatly behind his back, and Harry watched, unable to remove his eyes from the man. “I must admit, it was not you I imagined as the one to try and resurrect me.” 

“A lot has changed,” he answered, mouth dry. His heart still beat wildly, and Voldemort’s eyes were still focused on him. It made a strange feeling flood through him. 

“So it has. You are not the infant I last saw. What are you now, Potter? Seventeen?” 

“Yes.” It shouldn’t have surprised him that Voldemort had a concept of time. He was dead, but was he really? 

“Curious.” 

“What?” Harry asked, frowning.

“We’ll have to talk again. You’ll be waking shortly.” 

When Harry woke, it was quiet and light outside, as apparent by the sunlight filtering in through some of the rubble. Nagini wasn’t nearby, but that didn’t surprise him, and he was grateful for the few moments to have to himself. The red eyes belonged to Voldemort, and they had been plaguing his dreams since he found Nagini. Truthfully, he felt a little stupid having not put the pieces together himself. Of course it’d be Voldemort. Of course the pieces of his soul were seeping into Harry’s mind and dreams. It all made sense. 

Voldemort had been a lot… tamer, than Harry expected. Throughout the last few weeks, he had imagined different scenarios of how the resurrection would go, and they almost always ended with Harry’s immediate death. It made sense. He was the one who destroyed the Dark Lord in a freak accident, and so it was only natural Voldemort would want to strike him down. Harry was at peace with this. After all, he was collecting the Horcrux to force the man back together as one whole person, which meant he was mortal. Harry’s endgame was that Voldemort would take down whoever rose in his place, and that someone else could bring him down after.

It was a crazy plan, absolutely insane, but it was the only one the wizarding world had left. Harry was ready to sacrifice himself for it. 

He wasn’t awake long before Nagini slithered back into the room, something held gingerly in her jaw. Harry realized it was a book, and not just any book -- Tom Riddle’s diary. He had found it in his second year, but not realizing what it was, lost it amongst the library shelves. Only now did it click that Voldemort had imbued it with his soul, and he could feel the dark magic rolling off the diary in waves. 

“I found it,” Nagini hissed, after dropping the book in Harry’s lap. “But there is another.” 

“There’s another Horcrux here?” he asked, surprised. What were the chances there were two of them at Hogwarts? 

“That’s what I said, fool.” Ignoring her insults, he opened the diary and flipped through a few pages, before tucking it safely away with the locket. He had an old, ratty messenger bag, and modified it with extension charms -- it was where he chucked everything, the Horcrux included. He knew Voldemort would be offended if he knew his soul pieces were in the same place as Harry’s socks. 

“Where?” Harry stood up now, though immediately swayed on his feet as the room spun. Nagini was quick to rise up as a support for Harry, to keep him from falling. 

“You need nutrition,” she hissed, annoyed. 

“I’m sure we can find something along the way. Where is the other Horcrux?” Truthfully, Harry thought himself secondary to the job at hand; he was going to die when he brought Voldemort back anyways. 

“Follow.” Nagini still sounded annoyed, but he followed after her regardless. 

The castle was treacherous to navigate, and Harry wasn’t able to fit through the tight places Nagini could, which resulted in him having to take alternate paths. He could feel it, though, as they moved through the unrecognizable halls. The call of the Horcrux, and the high pitched hissing it emitted. It was nearby, but something about it seemed… different. Stronger, possibly. Harry couldn’t put a finger on it. 

“Up there.” Nagini had stopped in front of a pile of rubble, her head pointed upward. Harry looked up, too, and realized what the crumbling staircase was -- the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. 

“You can’t…?” he started, looking down at her, and she coiled in anger. 

“I am a snake, not a bird!” 

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he answered quickly, hands up. “I’ll… figure it out.” 

The staircase was ruined at the bottom, with no chance of ascending safely, but about halfway up the column, the stairs seemed perfectly normal. Harry knew from experience that didn’t always mean anything, having fallen through stairways of abandoned homes before. If he could climb the rubble, he might stand a chance of grabbing the stable part and pulling himself up. It would be so much easier if he had a broom. 

Starting to climb up the pile of rocks, Nagini hissed. “You are going to kill yourself.” 

“Do you have a better idea?” 

“Yes.” 

She began to slither in another direction, and Harry sighed before getting down to follow after her. Knowing he had been at the bottom of Dumbledore’s office gave him a better sense of where he was within the castle, but it was still unrecognizable. How long had it taken for them to destroy it to such extremes, he wondered, and how many were buried under the rubble? 

“There.” Nagini stopped at a large crack in the stone wall, and Harry peered through it to whatever she was looking at.

“You’re kidding, right?” They were looking at the side of the building where Dumbledore’s office was, and could see right into it -- however, to reach it, there were a myriad of large boulders and stones from the collapsed tower next door. “That’s just as dangerous! And it’s higher!” 

“It is more stable,” she answered, confident. 

Grumbling, Harry squeezed through the gap, and headed towards the rocks. “Stay here.” 

“I intend to.” 

Though he didn’t want to admit it, Nagini was right. It was stable, the rocks and stone having time to settle since their fall, and Harry was able to safely climb up into the Headmaster’s office, so long as he didn’t lose his footing. It took a lot out of him, though, and as he reached the top, he laid on the floor for a few long moments, just trying to catch his breath. Voldemort would have an easy time killing him in the end; Harry wasn’t in much of a fighting shape anymore. 

“Get up,” Nagini hissed from below, and Harry almost didn’t hear her, being lured with sleep. He forced himself up though, and looked around the office. It was a disaster, but felt… lived in. Signs someone had been there were apparent; dishes, an old fire, and what looked like a cot to sleep in. A quick wave of his wand revealed no one was there except for Harry. 

The hiss was prominent now, but not as strong as it had been. Moving over to the Headmaster’s desk, Harry pulled open the desk drawers and began to search. It took a moment, but only because the object was so small -- a golden ring with a black stone. It felt familiar to Harry, like all the other Horcrux before it, but significantly more dangerous. Just as he was about to slip it on his finger, something hissed in his mind, startling him. 

Don’t. 

Looking around wildly, Harry found no one in the room with him, but the warning was clear as bells. He stood from the desk, and dropped the ring into the messenger bag with the others -- whoever, or whatever, that was, he thought it was best to heed the message. With the ring secured, Harry checked around the office for anything else that might be of interest. He snagged a few books for later, but found everything else had already been ransacked. 

“Did you find it?” Nagini asked, when he finally climbed back down to the bottom. 

“Yeah. But I can still hear it, for some reason.” The sound, the feeling of the Horcrux, was still with him. 

“Another one.” 

“Seriously? A third one is here?” he asked, incredulous. Whenever they found a Horcrux, it always quieted down almost immediately, like it was an ordinary object. Harry wasn’t sure why, but it wasn’t like there was an instruction scroll to these things. He just had to roll with it. 

“Yes. But first, nutrition.” 

Harry sighed, but Nagini was already moving away, and he knew there wasn’t any point to arguing with her. When they had first met, she almost killed him -- something stopped her right as she lunged for his throat, and despite him asking her several times, she never told him what it was. Nor did she explain why she was sticking with him, until Harry figured out the Horcrux puzzle. Only then did he realize she was one, and she indicated they could bring Voldemort back with his soul pieces. That was when Harry began his quest to find them, and it seemed Hogwarts was a hotspot. 

Unsurprisingly, Nagini knew where to find the storages of food, and it hadn’t been too trying to get there. Most of the food in the storage had rotted, but there were still some things he could eat -- and it was a better meal than what he normally ate. Nagini curled up in the corner, watching as he prepared his food and ate quietly, and she didn’t budge when Harry laid down with his head on his arm. The full belly made him sluggish, and his afternoon climbing adventure had worn him out. Surely, he could rest for a few moments before they started looking again. 

“It’s cursed.” Harry turned around, finding Voldemort standing just a few feet away. They were in Dumbledore’s office this time, only it was pristine and perfect. Voldemort was different, too. Instead of looking like Tom Riddle, he was more snake-like -- it was a spitting image of what Harry had seen in books and old newspapers. Still, his body was flickering in and out, like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be there or not. The red eyes were the same, always intense and always trained on Harry. 

“What is?” he asked, licking his lips briefly because of how dry they felt. His mouth and throat were dry, which felt impossible given how quickly his heart raced and how sweat formed on the back of his neck. 

“The ring.” There was a mild edge of annoyance to his voice. “Do keep up, Potter.” 

“That… that was you I heard?” Voldemort was a master at communicating with just a look, and Harry was very aware the other wizard thought he was stupid. “How?” 

“You’re holding a number of Horcrux now,” he answered, but to Harry, it felt like a lie. He wasn’t sure why, but he was extra sure he would not be accusing the Dark Lord of lying to him. 

“Why is it cursed?” 

“To keep it safe.” 

“Oh.” That made sense. Nagini could keep herself safe, but the other objects Voldemort turned to Horcrux could not. “Can you tell me where the other Horcrux are?” 

“You should have enough after you collect the last one remaining here.” 

“Really…?” 

“Yes.” 

Harry was surprised by that -- it meant he was almost there, that he could bring Voldemort back, and finally accomplish what he set out to do. It also meant he was a step closer to death. Strangely enough, it didn’t bother him. The young wizard was tired. Not just physically, but mentally as well. He was ready to rest. 

“Okay. I’ll wake up, I’ll find it.” 

“Not so fast, Potter.” Harry looked back to Voldemort, confused. Wouldn’t the Dark Lord want him to get on with it already? “You’ve found five of them, correct?” 

“Yeah... the locket, the ring, the diary, Nagini, and whatever else is in the castle.” 

“Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem.” 

“W… okay.” Harry didn’t feel like asking questions -- not when they were ‘why did you choose these objects’ anyways. 

“You’ll need more than just my Horcruxes to make me whole again.” 

In the back of his mind, Harry knew this. Nagini had never divulged how it would work, reassembling Voldemort’s soul, but he knew it’d require something. This was dark magic he was dealing with, and dark magic always had a price. 

“I don’t have to kill someone, do I?” That wasn’t a line he was willing to cross. 

Harry swore he saw the snake-like man’s lips quirk, but it was gone as soon as it came. “No, Potter. You do not need to kill anyone.” Voldemort regarded him with curiosity now, red eyes looking over Harry’s face before trailing downwards. “Tell me. Why are you doing this?” 

“I… you have to defeat the new Dark Lord. The one that took your place.” 

“Is that all?” 

“Yes?” Harry frowned a little, unsure of why Voldemort would think there was more reason to it. The older wizard watched him for a moment, eyes intense, and Harry felt captivated. 

“Hm.” Voldemort only gave a small hum, and Harry felt even more puzzled. Their conversation couldn’t continue, however, as he felt the pull of waking up surround him. 

Sitting up, Harry rubbed the back of his head and looked around. Nagini was gone again, and the fire he started was nothing more than embers. The storage room had no access to the outside, so he wasn’t sure what time of day it was, or how long he had slept. Regardless, the sleep was pleasant, and Harry actually felt rested. Not at full strength or health, but well enough that he stood and moved without the world tilting around him. 

Outside the storage, he could hear the distant call of the Horcrux, and set off in the direction it was coming from. It occurred to him, however, that despite what Voldemort had said, he would still need to fetch the last Horcrux. If he didn’t use the soul piece it possessed, then it meant Voldemort would still be immortal in some way, and that he could not be defeated after he himself defeated the new Dark Wizard. Harry was sure that was what Voldemort wanted, to have at least one failsafe, but that wasn’t part of the plan. He needed the sixth and final piece. 

As Harry went deeper into the castle, it became harder and harder to navigate. A lot remained inaccessible by the fallen rubble, and he knew better than to try and move it -- the last thing he wanted was for the remains of the structure to crumble down on his head. He spent a good few hours trying to get closer to the Horcrux, and eventually succeeded when he came to a dead end. 

“I don’t understand,” he said, looking around. There was nothing here, yet the call of the Horcrux thrummed beneath his skin. He was so close, he knew it. 

His frustration was starting to grow when etchings began to appear in the wall, carving out an elegant design in the shape of doors. Harry watched, mesmerized, before they opened, revealing a room crammed full of objects. Fascinated, he stepped through -- there was a small voice at the back of his mind saying he’d heard of this room before, but its name wasn’t coming to the surface. It was a room that showed itself to those in need, and took the shape of whatever the wizard or witch’s need was. This must’ve been where the Horcrux had been hidden by Tom Riddle so many years earlier. 

There were all sorts of objects as he navigated the room like a maze, and Harry helped himself -- there were brooms, potions, books, and random oddities that he tossed into his messenger bag for a later date. The boom especially would be helpful, even if it was nothing particularly special. 

Finding things that would be useful fell to the backburner as he got closer to the Horcrux. Upon a small table was a box, and Harry moved the few things hiding it -- inside was the diadem, thrumming with dark energy. Gingerly picking it up, Harry tucked it away with the others, and headed back towards the door. He had all but one Horcrux, and with any luck at all, the last wouldn’t be impossible to find. 

Nagini was outside the door waiting. “We must leave.” 

“Why?” 

She didn’t have to answer as a spell crashed into the wall nearest to him -- there was someone on the other side of the rubble, and they were trying to get through, flinging spells furiously at the rocks and stones. Harry didn’t need to be told twice, and quickly darted down the path he’d come. He reached for Nagini, and apparated away. 

They landed in another set of woods, and Harry let out the breath he’d been holding, before looking down to Nagini. There were a few singed spots along her scales, and blood around her mouth that he hadn’t noticed before. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling down. 

“Fine, their magic was weak,” she answered. She didn’t coil away when Harry gently touched her, and allowed him to investigate the singe marks for himself. Satisfied that she wasn’t harmed, he stood up again. 

“We only have one more left to find,” he told her as he summoned the tent from his messenger bag and set it up with his wand. It was getting colder, and he didn’t want to be outside as the sun set. When the tent was set, Harry climbed inside and pulled out the ragged sleeping bag he’d been toting around, and made himself as comfortable as possible. Nagini slid in after, and rested her large body over Harry’s. It was rare that she did, but Harry noticed it tended to happen when it was getting cold out.

It took him a while to fall asleep this time, but Voldemort was waiting when he finally did. They were in the forest, perhaps the same one Harry was currently hiding out in, but Voldemort was nothing more than shadows this time. They took the shape of a man, but there was nothing corporeal about them save for the same pair of red eyes. 

“I told you. You can resurrect me with the Horcruxes you have.” His tone was angry, and Harry reminded himself not to be surprised or shaken. The anger was overwhelming, though, as if it had a physical form pressing against Harry. 

“I know. I remember.”

“Then do it!” 

“No.” Saying no to the shadowy figure was difficult, but Harry hadn’t come all this way to give in to the Dark Lord’s demands. He planned to use all six Horcrux, and he would. Then he could be done. 

The red eyes narrowed, and the shadow-y figure loomed in closer. Harry took a hesitant step back on instinct. “You will do as I say.” 

Harry swallowed. “No, I won’t. This is a dream. You don’t even have a body. There’s nothing you can do.” With each word he gained a little more courage, and the Dark Lord gained more fury. Harry could feel it, pressing against his magic. 

“You won’t survive getting the last one. You are not well.” 

The shadow’s words caught Harry off guard as he connected the dots -- Voldemort’s intentions were not what he thought they were. He believed Voldemort wanted the last Horcrux to remain as a safety net. “You’re… worried. About me?” He struggled to wrap his mind around that, but the overbearing fury began melting away to annoyance, and the shadow-y figure stopped looming threateningly over him. 

“You are the one resurrecting me. You die, I must wait longer.” Harry licked his dry lips. That made more sense. He was Voldemort’s current hope of resurrection. Whether any of his followers remained loyal to him, or were even still alive, was unknown. Without Harry, who knew how long the wizard would have to wait. 

“Where’s the last one?” he asked, voice quieter than he would have liked. 

Voldemort observed him, and Harry wanted to squirm. “In a vault of one of my followers.” 

“In Gringotts?” 

“Yes.” 

Harry frowned. There was no possible way he was going to be able to get in there. Not to mention, it was in Diagon Alley, which was crawling with Death Eaters and the like. Even with his cloak, Harry wouldn’t be able to reach the vault in question. 

“Do the ritual with what you have. We can collect the last one later.” 

Again, Harry was caught off guard as his eyes darted back to Voldemort. “What?” So many questions sprung up from that simple declaration. First, a ritual. Rituals never meant good things. Secondly, Voldemort wanted to find his last Horcrux, and he said we. Indicating Harry would be helping. That was perhaps what confused him most, but he didn’t miss the way Voldemort’s eyes gleamed with amusement. 

“You… you said we?” he repeated. 

“I did.” 

“You’re not going to kill me as soon as you have a body?” 

“I thought about it.” Voldemort’s voice was smooth, easy, and Harry wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

“But…?” 

“You can do the ritual without the last Horcrux,” Voldemort continued, ignoring Harry’s line of questioning. “Conveniently, one of the books you swiped from Hogwarts will tell you everything you need.” 

“I… okay.” After a beat or two, he asked, “Nagini will be okay, right? It won’t hurt her?” Despite it all, Harry had grown fond of the serpent, and he didn’t want to see her harmed. 

“She will be fine.” Voldemort seemed a little taken back by the question, or perhaps Harry was imagining it. 

Harry watched the mass of shadow expand and contract, as if trying to take another form before giving up. “Why are you…” he gestured, not sure how to word it. 

“My form changes. You cannot decide how you want to see me.” 

“Me?” 

“This is your dream, is it not, Potter?” There was that tone again, the annoyed one where he thought Harry was an idiot. 

Harry woke feeling sluggish and drained, despite having slept for the last however long. Nagini was still draped over him, but moved when he started shifting. His brain felt foggy, and his head felt heavy, like something invisible was weighing him down. Still, Harry managed to push himself into a sitting position, and take a breath. Nagini watched him closely from where she had moved to the corner of the tent. 

“We can bring him back without the last Horcrux,” he shared. 

“Excellent.” 

Voldemort was right. Harry wasn’t well, and he hadn’t been for a long time. Hearing where the final Horcrux was located weakened his spirit -- there was no possible way for him to get to it, not without getting himself killed. Despite his plan, and all the work he’d put in, he would have to give up and resurrect Voldemort with what he had. Harry was conflicted over whether or not he believed the dark wizard would want to collect the final Horcrux or spare him, but ultimately, it didn’t really matter. Even if Voldemort killed him and took over, it would be better than the world was now. 

Finding the books he’d taken from Hogwarts, Harry began searching through them for any indications of Horcrux or soul pieces. It took most of the morning, and around the early afternoon -- when his stomach rumbled unhappily -- he finally found something. It never mentioned dark magic or Horcrux, but rather talked about split souls and how to piece them together. 

“I…” he started, not sure of what he was going to say or who he was talking to. 

“What is it? How do we do it?” 

“It… it says the soul has to be pieced back together, and bound with another one…” It didn’t make sense to Harry. Did that mean Voldemort’s soul needed another to latch on to? Or that another soul had to act like some sort of rubber band or tape and hold the pieces together? 

“Well, get to it.” 

“What? I don’t… I don’t know what this means. Or -- wait, you want me to use my soul?” 

“Why not?” 

“I.. I…” 

Harry didn’t have a good reason why not. He’d come this far with every intention of dying after he resurrected Lord Voldemort, and never once did he think he’d have to take part in the process of forging his soul back together. Perhaps it was naive of him, but even now, he struggled to wrap his mind around it. It was also possible he was a little disappointed. Harry never sought to purposely kill himself, but he was ready to be done with everything. 

The ritual didn’t look too complicated, but it required Harry’s blood and magic. He had no issues giving up either, but the book didn’t describe the end results. 

What if he ended up… bonded to the dark wizard or something? 

“Well?” Nagini asked, impatient. Harry looked over to her, and chewed on the inside of his cheek. He said, when he set out, that he would do whatever it took to bring Voldemort back. That he believed Voldemort was their one hope of stopping the new dark forces that took his place. He was ready to give his life, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to give his soul. 

“You hesitate.” 

Voldemort had taken the form of Tom Riddle again, flickering in and out of existence like before. This time, however, his red eyes weren’t trained on Harry -- they looked over the tent the two of them were seated inside. It wasn’t like a wizard’s tent, with rooms and extravagant space, but more like a muggle tent, which left them very physically close to each other. 

“With the ritual? Yeah. I don’t understand it.” 

Voldemort’s eyes settled on Harry again, watching him. Even sitting cross-legged in the worst possible tent on Earth, the man still looked dignified and regal. “My soul has been fractured. It cannot hold itself together -- thus another soul, to assist.” 

“So… like a rubberband.” 

He quirked an eyebrow, but tilted his head forward slightly, agreeing. “Like a rubberband.” 

“How… how does that affect me?” 

“You’ll be tethered to me. I cannot kill you, and without you, my soul cannot remain pieced together.” 

“So…” Harry swallowed. He’d be, as Voldemort put it, tethered. He would be stuck to the Dark Lord. “That’s it?” 

“If I die, you die.” 

Oddly enough, relief passed through Harry. Someone could still kill Voldemort in the end, and maybe the wizarding world could rebuild. There would be no more dark wizards running rampant. There would be nothing left to save, and Harry could finally rest. 

A hand cupped his jaw, startling Harry. He hadn’t realized Voldemort had moved in close, and he repressed a shiver from the other man’s touch. “No one will kill me, Potter. You will not martyr yourself.” 

“You don’t know that,” he said defiantly, but his tone was weak. 

“I do know, and I will not allow anything to happen to you.” There was an edge of possessiveness to Voldemort’s voice, and Harry couldn’t stop the shiver this time. Red eyes stared into his, and Harry’s heart beat wildly in his chest. Voldemort released him finally, and leaned away. “You need to rest, and eat, before you attempt the ritual. Otherwise you will not be strong enough.” 

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, breathing a little heavier. “Okay.” 

The journey he set off on was almost finished. Harry spent a few days trying to tend to himself, to prepare for the ritual. From Voldemort’s warning, and from rereading the book a few more times, he understood that this would take a lot of his energy, and he would need a lot of magic to make it work. So he slept on and off, and ate what he could to prepare himself. Nagini hung around, hunting for him and trying to keep him warm. 

It was on the fourth day that he decided to attempt piecing Voldemort’s soul back together. He had more energy than he had in a good while, and he was sure it was the best he was going to get. Everything was prepared -- he transfigured a cauldron, and added to it each of the Horcruxes in his position. He hesitated when it came to Nagini, but she made the decision herself, slithering into the water with the other objects, but leaving her head at the surface. 

Swallowing, Harry took the knife he had, and hesitated, before dragging it over the length of his forearm. Dropping it to the side, he squeezed and ignored the pain, watching as the water turned red and simmered. That was all the easy part. The next part required massive amounts of magic, and for Harry to say the spell correctly and thoroughly several times. 

He concentrated, and put everything he had into the ritual -- Harry didn’t stop until he had nothing left to give, and darkness edged at his vision. Vaguely, he was aware of something happening around him, but he could no longer focus, nor was he truly seeing as he collapsed to the ground. 

This time, his dream was quiet, and there was no one there. 

When he woke, Harry wasn’t on the ground of the forest anymore. Instead, it was a cozy little room with a fireplace in the corner, and he was laying in bed with Nagini curled up at his feet. He was almost sure it’d all been a dream, but when the door opened, his eyes widened. 

There stood Voldemort, in the flesh, but it wasn’t just Voldemort; it was Tom Riddle, as well as the shadow-y mass that had appeared in his dream. All three of them were present, and Harry knew without a doubt that this wasn’t a dream. He intended to resurrect the Dark Lord Voldemort, and apparently managed to resurrect multiple forms of him. 

“Oh Merlin.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments, kudos, or just enjoyed the first part of this! I'm going to try to make this a multi-chaptered fic. After all, there are a lot of questions needing answered.

It had been literal years since Harry had slept in a bed. 

The room he had been sleeping in was small and comfortable, and incredibly warm -- with the fireplace going, and the heavy quilts covering him, he was back asleep before his befuddled mind could begin to comprehend why there were three different versions of Voldemort in the doorway. None of them had even tried to explain anything; instead, Tom Riddle had demanded he rest more, while Voldemort and his Shade watched on impassively. Harry didn’t argue, and he didn’t really have the strength to, anyways. The ritual left him feeling heavy and hazy, and the pull of sleep was just too hard to resist. 

When he woke again, only Nagini was still with him. He looked around, though, half expecting Voldemort or one of his incarnations to come through the door, but no one did. Instead, Harry found a note and a few potions on the table beside the bed. Elegantly scrawled were the words “drink these”, and nothing else. There were three potions, all contained in small vials, and all different colors. Unfortunately, he didn’t remember enough of his potions class to recall what they might be, but Voldemort’s words came drifting to the forefront of his mind. 

I cannot kill you.

Slowly pushing himself into a sitting position, Harry grimaced at how heavy his limbs felt -- it was as if his entire body was weighted down. For the first time he noticed the bandages wrapped around his arm, where he’d cut himself for the ritual, and wondered if Voldemort had tended to his injury. He tried to imagine it as he drank down the potions, but struggled. Everyone claimed Voldemort was merciless or cold hearted, and neither of those descriptions fit with someone carefully tending to Harry’s wounds, especially because it wasn’t a life threatening one. Figuring out Voldemort -- or Tom Riddle -- was a new puzzle Harry was going to have to piece together.

Nagini moved across the bed closer to Harry now, and he turned his attention to her. “Are you alright?” he asked, parseltongue easy on his lips. Nagini had been his traveling companion for almost two years now, and he had grown fond of her. Whether she felt the same way or not, he wasn’t sure, but Harry wanted to make sure the ritual hadn’t harmed her.

“I am fine,” she answered, moving into his lap now. She allowed Harry to run his fingers over her scales. “You are not well.” 

“Is that what the potions were for?” 

“Yes.” She settled, curled over his legs as if she were keeping him from leaving the bed. For all Harry knew, she was. “Master had to find ingredients.” 

“Master… you mean Voldemort?” 

“Yes.” Harry believed that, because in her tone was the same annoyance he’d experienced from Voldemort. 

“Where is he? Erm, are they?” He was a little surprised that no one had come to the room yet, given the last time he woke, they were there within minutes. Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about the situation yet, however; whether he should be worried, or if he should even want to see Voldemort in the first place. 

“I don’t know.” 

Harry fell quiet after that, and just idly ran his fingers over Nagini’s scales. The entire situation was so far from what he had expected it almost made him nauseous. He had every intention of dying after resurrecting Voldemort, but instead, he was alive and tethered to the man by some sort of soul bonding ritual. They never covered magic like that at Hogwarts, and the book he had been referencing didn’t have many details other than how to do it. No doubt, there would be consequences, or some sort of catch, something; it bothered Harry not to know. 

He wasn’t sure how long he was caught up in his thoughts when the door opened, and Tom Riddle walked in. Everything about the man was regal and handsome; his dark hair, the sharp angles of his face, just the very way he held himself -- posture straight, and hands neatly folded behind him. Harry watched him openly, and the red eyes he had been dreaming of watched him back. 

“You drank your potions,” Tom spoke, almost conversationally, before walking to the bedside table to collect the vials. Up close, Harry could feel the man’s magic thrumming with power, dark and smothering, and it pressed against his own magic teasingly. His brain had short circuited for a moment, prompting Tom to raise an eyebrow. 

“Yeah… what were they?” 

“Blood restoration, and nutritional potions.” Harry was a little surprised at the answer; Tom was tending to his health. “The world has not been kind to you.” 

“Why do you care?” The words left his mouth before he could think better of it, but his tone was weak. Tom watched him for a moment, eyes intense, and briefly Harry felt the inclination to hide away. It was broken when Tom walked away, going over to the fireplace. 

“I told you. Without you, I cannot remain whole.” 

More questions came up, but Harry settled on the more pressing ones. “The ritual… why are there three of you?” 

“It failed.” Harry’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach at Tom’s casual answer. He followed the directions, and gathered up everything he needed, but in the end, he failed. “You simply were not strong enough.” 

There was nothing in Tom’s tone to indicate he held it against Harry, but Harry felt enough disappointment in himself for both of them. All his plans, his goals… he wasn’t strong enough. He likely never was. “Oh.” 

“The end result, however, is manageable. Instead of forging all the pieces together, you merely brought them into existence and paired them together.” Tom turned back to him now, watching Harry. “Once we retrieve the final Horcrux, we will have the option to try again.” 

Caring for Harry’s health made a little more sense now; they needed him for the ritual again. “Is that where....” Harry gestured vaguely, unsure of how to reference the other forms of Tom Riddle. “You went? To get it?” 

“Not at this time, no.” 

With every answer, more questions came forward, and the puzzle just seemed to get larger and larger. Harry was bound to the Dark Lord, and not just one, but three separate versions. His head hurt trying to wrap around everything that had happened recently, and he was getting tired. Normally, he had moving around and travel to keep the exhaustion away, but right now, there was nothing but the pull of the soft bed below him and the warmth creeping over his skin. 

His attention refocused when Tom approached the bed again. “Rest, Harry.” 

He nodded, laying back and pulling the quilt up while Nagini made herself comfortable draped over him. Her added weight to the warmth he felt made resisting sleep impossible, and Harry was asleep again in minutes. There were no red eyes in his dream this time, but there was something else lurking in the shadows. 

Harry wasn’t alone when he woke up again -- Voldemort was sitting in a chair nearby, watching him, while Tom sat on the sofa in front of the fire with a book open in front of him. It was surreal, seeing them both in the room, and it made his stomach tighten to have the Dark Lord watching him so intensely. It wasn’t fear, though, but something else Harry couldn’t describe. 

Nagini was still laying over him, but she didn’t stop him from sitting up. “How long have I been sleeping…?” he asked, voice rough before he cleared it. 

“Since you were last awake, a day or so.” Unlike Tom’s voice, Voldemort’s was colder though his tone was neutral with no emotion to it. A day was a long time, but he supposed his body needed it. Over the years, Harry only slept for a handful of hours at a time, and never stayed put for long enough to get proper rest. No doubt he was just catching up. 

“Where’s the… Shade?” There were no other words to really describe it; the third incarnation of Voldemort was a mass of shadows pulled into the somewhat recognizable shape of a man, and still possessed the intense red eyes. It was strange seeing it in his dreams, but even stranger seeing it in the real world. 

“Exploring,” Voldemort said. “Do you know where we are, Potter?” Though it was phrased as a question, Harry felt like it wasn’t, not really.

“Um… no, not really.” 

“Near Godric’s Hollow, where I tried to kill you seventeen years ago.” Harry swallowed, watching the colder snake-like man. He could feel Voldemort’s magic, like he could feel Tom’s, and it was just as dangerous. “If it weren’t for this soul bond, I would have killed you the moment I regained form.” 

“I know,” Harry said softly. “I was counting on it.” He was looking forward to finally having peace. 

Tom closed his book then, and stood up. “You need to eat, Harry.” 

Tom’s demeanor was so far different from Voldemort’s, it was as if they were two different people, rather than one. Tom was calm, collected, and cunning. Not to say Voldemort wasn’t intelligent, but he seemed more like a caged predator waiting for the moment he was free to do as he pleased. It was like major parts of the man’s personality had split between the different forms. Or perhaps, this was just Voldemort’s mental state when he created the Horcrux. There was more to split when he was Tom Riddle, but less soul when he was Voldemort. 

“Careful, Potter. You might fry your brain with all that thinking,” Voldemort spoke, sneering. This incarnation seemed to inherit all the hatred for Harry. 

He didn’t answer, and was instead distracted by Tom summoning a house elf. The creature was small and thin, but cheerful, and she popped out of existence just as quickly as she came. Tom moved to stand at the foot of the bed, and Harry felt his cheeks heat with the knowledge they were both watching him. 

“You will rest a few days more, then we will find the last Horcrux. It is not where I left it,” Tom said smoothly, a hand moving to Harry’s ankle. 

“It’s not in Gringotts?” The touch was distracting, but Harry managed to figure out words to ask the question. It had been a long time since he felt another human’s touch. 

“It is not. The follower I entrusted it to was loyal to the end, and killed by this mockery of a Dark Lord.” Harry didn’t care who it was, and so he didn’t ask. “We will deal with him once we have completed the ritual properly.” 

“We?” If Tom wanted to do it after the ritual, that meant the we was Tom and, well, Harry. 

“Oh yes, Harry. You’ll be one of my most loyal followers, won’t you?” There was an edge to Tom’s voice that had the hair on the back of his neck standing up. 

“I won’t hurt anyone,” he said, aiming for defiance, but it had fizzled out in his tone. 

“Not to worry.” Tom didn’t follow up with what that meant, which left Harry with more questions. There wasn’t an opportunity to ask them, however, as the man released his ankle and strode confidently to the door. “Get some rest, Harry.” 

He was gone, leaving Harry with Voldemort, and the snake-like man was still watching him -- only now, there was more contempt in his eyes. “Are you just going to watch me?” Harry asked. Voldemort didn’t say a word, instead standing up in a fluid, silent motion and leaving the room after Tom. 

Harry was alone again, with just Nagini for company. It was a lot to process, but what lingered in his mind was Tom’s plans for him. He intended for Harry to be a follower, a Death Eater, and while Harry’s instincts screamed no, his mind was contemplating if it would be as bad as he thought. He made it clear he wouldn’t hurt anyone, and truthfully, he didn’t know what Death Eaters did besides hurt and kill people. So what exactly did Tom have planned for him? Nevermind that they had to somehow track down the wayward Horcrux. 

Answers only brought more questions, but Harry soon fell asleep with the memory of Tom’s touch lingering in his thoughts.


End file.
